


Until Death Comes

by Queen of the Castle (queen_of_the_castle_77)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Angst, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-17
Updated: 2012-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_the_castle_77/pseuds/Queen%20of%20the%20Castle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a number of ways to wait for the inevitable. Harry, typically, decides that charging in is the best of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until Death Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Sexual content, dark themes, background character death.
> 
> Author’s Notes: Goes AU prior to the start of the series: what if Voldemort heard the whole prophecy instead of just part of it and acted accordingly?

Harry gasps quietly into the crook of his own elbow, purposely muffling the sound, as the very same hand that’s just removed his shirt glides over his skin in tentative exploration. He’s not used to anything in his life being this pleasurable. He doesn’t have high hopes that he’ll have the chance to actually _get_ used to it, either.

Harry’s whole existence seems to have always revolved around the kind of mocking acts of fate that he’d just as soon have avoided if he had half a choice. He wonders, then, whether destiny has finally given him a bit of a break, or whether this far more welcome aspect that’s just been introduced into his life simply has nothing at all to do with what’s ‘meant to be’.

Very occasionally he wonders whether, if he were out there meeting other witches and wizards his age – the kind who aren’t just brought in by their Death Eater parents to jeer at him or to witness the cautionary tale of what happens to young boys who dare to go against their beloved ‘Dark Lord’ – he might have found a different best friend, or another... whatever it is that they’re becoming to each other by getting up to what they’re doing right now.

Most of the time, though, he doubts that it could ever have been anyone other than Neville Longbottom. They’re two of a kind; a matched pair. They always would have been, deep down, even if they hadn’t grown up in each other’s pockets with no one to turn to but each other to alleviate the nearly constant boredom and to calm the less frequent spikes of fear that were interspersed throughout. And with no one to turn to for _this_ either, though Harry’s hardly complaining about that right now.

Harry’s hands fumble as they circle around Neville’s wrists, catching them before Neville goes too far and makes Harry completely embarrass himself. He tries very hard to act as though he’s not awkward and completely inexperienced. As though Neville, who knows every last tiny thing about him, could ever be fooled. As though Neville’s skill isn’t equally unproven.

It comes as no surprise to either of them, though, that Harry ultimately takes the lead despite their equal footing. It’s always been that way. He leans forward and soothes Neville’s chapped lips with a swipe of his tongue, and he sighs into Neville’s mouth just a moment before their lips seal together. Kissing is just the beginning, or so claims the book that disgusting (even more so even than most of the rest of them, if that’s possible) brute called Nott chucked into their cell with a creepy laugh one day. Personally, in that moment of sensation, Harry can hardly begin to believe that there might be something _better_.

That is, of course, until Neville proves him decisively wrong by for once taking the initiative.

Apparently, in all these years, Harry’s actually taught Neville something: it’s best to run full-pelt straight towards things that are scary rather than shying away from them. That’s what Gryffindors do, Sirius had always told him (Harry flinches at the thought of _him_ ). And even though they’ll never see Hogwarts, Harry knows he and Neville are both still Gryffindors in every way that matters.

Neville pulls one hand free and reaches below Harry’s stomach. Neville strokes him firmly – a little _too_ firmly, actually, but Harry still loves it because too much is far better than too little when you’ve never felt _anything_ like this before and can’t be guaranteed to experience it again. Harry rocks mindlessly into Neville and grips him tight enough to probably leave bruises as dark as when their guards grow bored or think they’ve been looked at the wrong way and decide it’s time to use a caning spell on the prisoners once again.

Harry’s peripherally aware that some perverted Death Eater’s probably off watching them on the monitoring spell that he knows constantly scrutinises the two of them, and is likely even now mirroring on himself the progress of Neville’s hand on Harry’s flesh. He doesn’t let that stop him, though. They’re being watched every moment of every day, and will continue to be watched as long as they remain captives. Their lives are already limited enough. They can’t put important things like this off simply due to something as stupid as lack of privacy, or they’ll never get to experience anything.

Whatever Harry might attempt to convince Neville to keep his spirits up, Harry doesn’t expect to ever see the outside of this cell unless it’s on the way to someplace where he can be publicly murdered; from what he can tell, death has become some kind of spectator sport around here, and he can’t imagine the triumph of his and Neville’s deaths in particular won’t be accompanied by excessive fanfare. It’s only a matter of time until the Dark Lord receives the information or sign from on high or whatever else he’s been waiting for to tell him which one of them he needs to kill and how best to do it, or whether it’s possible to kill both of them without risk. And Harry doesn’t believe anyone will be coming to save them before that time arrives, either. Anyone of a mind to help would surely have acted well before now; they’ve been here for ten years already, if the Death Eaters can actually be trusted even with the basic task of reading calendars (which Harry kind of doubts, all things considered). He knows, from the lurching tale that Neville took several years to tell him, that Neville’s parents didn’t survive his kidnapping. Harry has a pretty good idea that his own parents have long since been killed as well, for he hasn’t so much as heard a whisper of their names from any of their guards since he was taken from them. He tries not to think about them, to be honest, to avoid dwelling on the possibilities. His godfather was murdered for a certainty; Harry had been reduced to debilitating sobs for hours on end when, at the tender age of eight and having just been ripped from his parents, he’d been dragged right smack underneath where Sirius’s body was grotesquely displayed hanging over the doorway into the building in which Harry has since been kept. His corpse was a monument to the uselessness of attempting to hide from the Dark Lord, Harry had been told once he was old enough to understand the basic concept of protection spells; proof that even the most devout Secret Keeper could be broken at the Dark Lord’s hands. Harry has no idea how that message was received by the people on the street, but it certainly made an impression on _him_. He still wakes up in a sweat from that memory-turned-nightmare sometimes.

The way that Neville holds Harry after he wakes him from the more terrifyingly realistic of those dreams is remarkably similar to how he now eases Harry through his climax as a sly twist of Neville’s wrist jerks Harry forcefully out of painful remembrance and into the overload of the present moment. There’s a bone deep familiarity in their embrace that’s born of having no such thing as personal space. They instinctively know every inch of each other, and pretty much every kind of reaction the other is prone to, even without having explored each other in quite this way before now. Honestly, Harry thinks, it’s no wonder Nott had snickered knowingly over giving the two of them a book about sex; the fact that it would lead to this next logical step had been completely inevitable. Harry just bet that _he_ was the one camped out with the monitoring spell right now.

Harry doesn’t let himself care about that any more now than when they started this, though, for he’s not done with Neville yet. He traces his hands down Neville’s still-clothed sides, his questing fingers noting the results of Neville finally having succumbed completely to their poor diet and having lost the last of his baby fat. However, Harry is stopped before his fingers can complete their journey to return the favour.

“I...” Neville begins, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, actually.”

Harry almost wants to protest that Neville’s just done exactly the same thing to him, and that he should have _told_ Harry if he had a problem with it. He’s not kidding when he claims to _know_ Neville, though. He understands the problem, even if he wishes that Neville could just get past it. He realises that Neville’s always been more of a giver because of a deep fear that anything that he dares to take can be taken back. So much has been taken already, from both of them (don’t think of Mum and Dad and Sirius, Harry quickly reminds himself, not wanting to embark down that road again).

Harry wishes that he could reassure Neville, or even himself, that no one can take _this_ from them if the two of them refuse to give it up, but he’s seen the Death Eaters (or worse, the creature that they call the Dark Lord himself) perform all kinds of magic, sometimes for no reason other than needing a bit of amusement. He’s seen what the word _Obliviate_ can do no matter how violently the victim tries to resist it. They’d think it fun to let Harry and Neville experience a moment of happiness together only to snatch it away, leaving a conspicuously gaping hole in its place. Harry doesn’t want that to happen any more than Neville does.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Harry’s going to try to avoid the risk altogether. It’s not in him to live by _their_ rules where he can help it. He’s never been sure whether that’s bravery (his Dad would have named it so), stupidity (as Remus would have fondly labelled it), or a little of both (his heart aches for the memory of his Mum’s amused reasoning, and it becomes clear that he’s not being at all successful at pushing his parents out of his mind today, no matter what distractions are on offer).

Harry hasn’t got the first clue what’s going on out there, outside this bloody building they’re trapped inside, or even in the parts of the building they’re never allowed (or forced, to be honest) to see. They’re hidden away (or, as Harry prefers to think of it, the Death Eater’s leader is hiding from _them_ ) too completely to keep up with the world. Perhaps the rest of the wizarding community is no freer than he and Neville anymore. Perhaps the only people still alive at all are the ones who have pledged loyalty to the Dark Lord (Voldemort, his ever-rebellious mind finally supplies, for now that he’s remembering things about his parents despite himself, he recalls that they were pointedly unafraid to call him by that name). And perhaps someone from out there could burst in and forcibly end the cohabitation between Harry and Neville that’s gone on for so long that it seems as natural as breathing.

Harry has no way to control any of that. But, at least for now, that’s _out there_. He _can_ control what happens _inside_ the room. It’s a minor distinction, and it’s undoubtedly flawed, but it helps him stay sane (or close enough), and to keep Neville sane as well.

Harry presses a kiss against Neville’s cheek before leaning back and tucking himself away again, making it obvious that Neville’s getting his way without a fight; Neville deserves to have just as much control of what happens inside the cell as Harry does. But Harry knows – and Neville is likely aware as well, knowing Harry as he does – that Harry doesn’t plan to just let the matter lie forgotten indefinitely. He figures that, if they’re given enough time (Harry crosses his fingers about that, for all that luck has never been on their sides), it won’t be _too_ difficult to help the other boy realise that he _should_ choose to feel good while he can.

Everything is temporary, after all, and not just for them. None of them are getting out of this thing called life alive, as Sirius used to say with a wink before he went off and did something stupid (like proving his point by actually getting himself killed). Of all the things that Harry learned from Sirius in their short time together, that’s might turn out to be the most important.

Looking at the hesitant smile Neville casts in Harry’s direction – hinting that he’s pleased with himself, and glad that Harry’s pleased as well, and maybe even a tiny bit hopeful despite himself that there will be more on the way – Harry resolves that he’s going to make sure they both live fully right up until the moment that death dares to drag them away kicking and screaming.

That way, at least in some sense, he bets they’ll outlive Voldemort himself. That will be _his_ victory.

~FIN~


End file.
